


Give me a Whisper (Give Me a Sigh)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-20
Updated: 2006-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Another "Sam leaves for college" fic.  Yeah, it's been done, but hey - one more time won't really hurt. Told from Dean's POV





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Give me a Whisper (Give Me a Sigh)

Author: MajorBrat

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Property of Kripke and the WB/CW

Warnings: Underage, slash, incest

Summary:  Another ‘Sam leaves for college’ fic.  Yeah, it’s been done, but hey…one more time won’t really hurt. Told from Dean’s POV

Author’s Note:  Warning: Do not let Dean invade your sleep! This is what happens!  GnR fans, please don’t flame me for using sigh instead of sign in the title. I just happen to like that better.

******

 

It had been a long time in coming.  Dean realized that.  He accepted it as much as he had to.  There comes a time when choices have to be made and no one could do it for you.  You could try your damnedest to sway that decision but sometimes things just didn’t go the way you wanted them.  That’s what was happening now.

 

He sat outside the motel room on the small peeling section that the owner referred to as “private porches” and smoked on a cigarette while listening to his father and his brother have a battle of wills and words.  He watched as the dark clouds on the horizon moved in, the wind picking up slightly to make the trash scatter and swirl across the parking lot.  He knew the storm would be here soon enough, a perfect rival to the one going on inside the motel room as well as in his own head.  

 

Sam was leaving them… leaving him.  For college.

 

It should have been a shock to his system, but really it wasn’t.  He’d always known that Sam would choose his own path.  He just didn’t expect it to be so soon.  Maybe a year or two down the line, but for it to suddenly be “now” and not “later”, it hurt.  God, but it hurt like hell.  Raising his head, Dean let the cool breeze of the oncoming rain wash over his overheated face.  He wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t allow himself that much freedom.  No, he needed to hold on to the hurt awhile longer.  It would get him through until the next hunt and then he could lose himself in that for a few days.  

 

The shouting was getting louder and Dean could hear Sammy’s “my choice!” and hear his father’s “not a game!” come crashing through the screened door behind him.  He clenched his fists and wished it to be over soon.  Any other time, Dean would have been inside trying to keep the peace.  This time, this one time, he couldn’t let himself interfere.  He couldn’t put himself in the middle of an argument that he couldn’t wrap his mind around.  Sam deserved to be able to choose.  Sam had the brains and a full ride to Stanford.  Sam deserved all the chances that Dean hadn’t been able to make.  Dean never once in his life admitted that he was a selfish bastard even though he knew he was at times.  He’d give up his own life for his family, do it in a heartbeat.  He wanted Sammy to do the same, to stay with him and their father.  Sammy was selfish, too.  Sammy wanted to be Sam, wanted to be normal, wanted a life where he didn’t have to hide behind lies.  And now, for the first time, Dean was torn between what was best for Sam and what was best for them.

 

He wished he would have stumbled over the applications or found the bookmarks on the laptop to prepare him for the sudden revelation that Sam would be leaving.  He wished that Sam wouldn’t have been quite so smart and good at hiding what he did.  Dean hadn’t found the applications, hadn’t found the bookmarks.  He’d had no clue as to what was coming.  Did it make it any easier?  He could say yes because there had been no agonizing over time slipping past them and the semester approaching when Sam would leave.  At the same time, Dean said no in his head.  He could have changed Sam’s mind, found a way to make him stay.  But Sam was stubborn, as are all Winchester men.  Once he had decided on something that was it.  Come hell or high water, Sam would go to Stanford and things would change yet again.  The family of three would become a family of two and, most of the time, a family of one as their father went off to hunt on his own, leaving Dean behind to work out the research angle.

 

The words inside were heated and clipped and Dean took another long drag off his cigarette as their father’s voice rose to a deafening level, “You walk out that door…you walk out on your family, don’t come back.  Don’t even think about it!  You hear me, boy?  Once you’ve made that choice and crossed that line, I will never welcome you back in!”

 

“You do what you think is best, *sir*.”

 

Dean’s hand shook as he wiped at the August-inducing sweat on his forehead.  He was lightheaded from the cigarette, nauseous.  With a quick flick of his wrist he sent it spiraling onto the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, watching as the ashes fell in a shower of sparks and then died.

 

The door behind him opened and his father had stepped around and past him before it slammed shut with a resounding bang of finality.  His father went straight for the truck, wrenching the door open and climbing inside without a single word.  He was red in the face, features screaming anger but Dean forced himself up from the step he’d been sitting on and hauled ass to reach him.

 

“Dad!”

 

The truck roared to life as Dean reached the driver’s side door and he watched as his father sat staring ahead at the motel door.  More than likely he was waiting for Sam to come running out to apologize, to say he was sorry and wouldn’t be leaving.  For several seconds, Dean wished the same thing.  But if wishes were horses…

 

“I’ll be back in a day or two, Dean.  Have all your stuff stowed and ready to go.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, feeling the nausea in his stomach increase at the empty tone of his father’s voice.  His father never even once looked at him before he was backing out of the parking lot, all roaring engine and squealing tires.

 

Now things would get awkward.  Stay outside or go into the motel room where his brother was no doubt angst-ing over every word that had passed between father and son.  He wanted to comfort Sammy, wanted to let him know that Dad didn’t mean the words that had been spoken between them in a moment of anger.  He couldn’t do it though.  No, that would still drop him right in the middle of what he was trying so hard to avoid.  He had to stay neutral even if it was killing him inside.

 

Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he slowly walked back over to the step and sat down facing that long lonely stretch of road that his father had left on.  He needed a moment to get himself together.  He reached inside his back pocket and pulled out the rumpled pack of cigarettes and stared at them, fingers tracing the Marlboro logo.  He’d given it up a few years ago but still took the secret pleasure of smoking one on occasion.  He wanted another one, desperately.

 

“Fuck it,” he muttered to no one in particular, flipping open the top of the pack and pulling one out by the brown filter.  He started patting at his pockets to find the pack of matches he always kept handy.  Once found, he flipped the matchbook cover open to find it empty.  He growled and flung the useless book onto the ground, cigarette still dangling between pursed, white lips.  There was a snap behind him and Dean turned, finding that Sam had effectively snuck up on him without a sound.  In his hand was a worn Zippo lighter, flame barely staying alive in the wind from the oncoming storm.  He stared up at Sam’s outrageously tall form, masking his emotions as best as he could.  Sam was crouching down, bringing the lighter to the tip of the cigarette.  Their eyes locked and Dean felt a bit of the tension in his stomach ease up.  Sam’s mouth stretched into a small grin as Dean leaned in to light his cigarette.  He pulled back, exhaling a pale blue wisp of smoke.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Sam clicked the Zippo closed and dropped down next to Dean, stretching his legs out alongside his brother’s.  “I thought you’d quit that.”

 

Dean shrugged and flicked a bit of ash onto the step.  “Just a casual smoker now.  No worries.”

 

Sam shook his head and sighed.  Dean’s insides twisted again.  *Please don’t start, Sammy.  I don’t think I could take it right now.  Please just keep your mouth shut.*

 

For once, Sam did.  They stood staring out at the steadily darkening sky until the first sharp-fingered streak of lightening pierced the clouds.  It was fitting, fitting that the sky would be angry and clouds would cry since his little brother was leaving in the morning.  Leaving him behind and going off to make a new life for himself.

 

“Dean, c’mon.  Let’s get inside before it starts pouring or we get struck by lightening.”  Sam’s hand was warm on his shoulder, seeming to sear right through the cotton of one of Dean’s many black tee-shirts.  

 

They went inside, back into another endless motel room.  Sammy’s last for awhile if Dean wanted to admit the truth to himself.  There was no joking, no laughter for several hours.  Just the two of them eating in ordered pizza and finishing off the last of the beer they’d gotten the night before.  It had been last night that Sam had told him he was leaving for college.  Sam telling him last minute to escape the pain it would cause the both of them.  Dean didn’t know whether to be grateful or hurt over it.  So he settled for not feeling either one.

 

They sat beside each other on the couch, a distance between them that felt like miles instead of mere inches, staring at some bonehead show on the television set.  Neither one spoke.  The storm outside said exactly what Dean was thinking and he cursed himself for thinking so poetically.  He wanted to reach out and draw Sam to him, kiss him and hold him, memorize the taste and feel of him while he still had the chance.  It had always been too many quick fumblings with their father too close by.  On a few occasions they had been able to take their time, but the few were outweighed by the many.  And Sam was leaving in the morning.  Dean suddenly wished he was already gone.

 

The hours passed by in a mixture of torturous slowness and surprising speed, and then Sam was standing.  He murmured something about an early morning and Dean grunted, watching as Sammy made his way over to one of the motel beds and climbed in.  Dean summarily shut off all the lights but left the television on, dropping back down onto the couch to watch whatever would come through the shitty reception they had here.  He could hear Sam shifting restlessly on the bed but he couldn’t bring himself to climb in there with him.  He couldn’t.  Eventually, Sam fell asleep and Dean turned around to stare at him over the back of the sofa.  He could see the Sam-shape under the covers, the easy rise and fall that comes with deep sleep.  Sam shouldn’t be allowed to sleep at all, not when their whole world was falling apart around them.  Forcing himself to turn around, Dean worked his way deeper into the cushions, drawing his legs up and curling into a semi-ball in the corner of the sofa.  In no time, he was sleeping.

 

It was a dead sleep, just blackness…that’s all he could remember when he woke up a little while later.  He blinked his eyes a few times before realizing that he was being moved, shifted around.  Sammy was pulling him towards him, stretching Dean out to lie on top of him.  Fighting the internal battle to pull away, Dean turned his head away from Sam’s gaze but finally let his younger brother position him the way he wanted.  Sam’s hands were stroking his hair, down his back, and over his arms.  “I didn’t think our last night would involve us sleeping alone,” Sam’s words were muffled as his lips pressed soft kisses into Dean’s hair.  

 

Dean didn’t say a word, just lay still on top of Sam and tried to force the overload of emotions back down.  He wouldn’t give in to either temptation, to hit or to kiss.  He couldn’t function like this, not with all the life suddenly feeling like it was being sucked out of him.  He stayed passive, just lying there in Sam’s arms with Sam’s heartbeat thumping away beneath his ear, with Sam’s even breath in his hair, on his temple.  The room was getting lighter and the time was going faster now.  

 

Last chance.  Last chance for them both and Dean couldn’t do it.  He was being shifted and Sam was getting up.  Sam was in the bathroom getting a shower and leaving soon and Dean still couldn’t get the energy to move.  Sam was calling for a cab to pick him up to take him to the bus station.  Dean was still lying on the couch, not saying much of anything as Sam double checked his bags.

 

And now, here it was…that moment in time.  Sam *was* leaving.  Dean heard himself ask if he had plenty of money, did he remember to pack this and did he remember to pack that.  Dean was sitting up now with Sam perched on the coffee table when the sound of the horn from the cab rang out.  Sam, with his big sad eyes, saying “I’ll call you when I get there,” and leaning in to kiss Dean goodbye.  Dean couldn’t deal with that, so he turned his head and Sam’s lips ghosted over a stubbled cheek instead.  He was left to contemplate the spot where Sammy had been sitting as the sound of the door slammed shut and a car revved and left the parking lot.  He sat there like that for what felt like hours and then, suddenly…

 

No.

 

This was not how he’d remember saying goodbye to Sam.  He would not wallow in self-pity, would not.

 

He grabbed for his jacket, pulled on his boots, snatched the keys up off the small table by the door, and ran for the Impala.  He pushed her to fly for him, never once looking at the speedometer as he rushed to the bus station.  Passing cars on the shoulder, weaving in and out of the slower cars of the people heading into work, he flew…they flew.

 

The small bus station suddenly appeared and he was careening into the parking lot, slamming the car into park.  He’d felt as if he’d run the entire way there, his breath coming out in pants as he sprinted out to find Sam.  Sam’s bus left at 8:10.  Dean tugged the sleeve back on his jacket, it was 8:09.  Damn it!  He turned a corner and there was a bus pulling away, small puffs of noxious gray smoke coming from the tailpipe.  Everything he wanted to say to Sam died in his throat, his feet stopping so quickly that he almost overbalanced and fell forward.  He stared after it, eyes blurring with tears of shame and anger.  His shoulders slumped and he turned, forcing his feet to move.  He wouldn’t do this here, in public.  He shouldn’t do it all.  Dean Winchester did not cry.

 

He started into the station, heading for the bathroom to calm down for just a moment before he started driving.  Wrecking the Impala and getting himself hurt wouldn’t answer anything as much as he wanted to really drive straight into a tree and just stop the pain he was feeling altogether.  When he managed to glance up, he found himself staring at Sam.

 

There were no words between them, Dean’s mouth was dry with the sudden revelation that he hadn’t missed his chance.  He nodded his head in the direction of the rest room and Sam followed quickly behind him.  The door slammed open with too much force and then Sam was in there with him.  Checking all the stalls and finding them empty, Dean pushed his younger brother back against the wall and pressed his lips to Sam’s, every ounce of every emotion spilling out into the kiss.  He clutched at Sam’s shirt with one hand, clung to his hip with the other.  What started out desperate and wild with the clashing of teeth and dominating tongues turned tender and sweet almost immediately.  Dean breathed in harshly through his nose, refusing to let up for more air.  There were tears on his cheeks, Sam’s tears, as they melted into each other, bodies fully aligned and fitting perfectly.

 

When they finally broke apart, Dean stepped back.  He smoothed his hands over the front of Sam’s shirt, trying to straighten out the mess he’d made.  Sam’s hands stopped the motion and Dean made himself look up into the taller boy’s eyes.  “You’re gonna miss your bus.”

 

Sam nodded his head but leaned down for one more small kiss before they started back out the door.  They stood quietly side by side as the overdue bus pulled into the station, Dean holding one of Sammy’s bags in his hand.  He handed it over to the loader and watched as Sam showed his ticket.  Hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, he watched as Sam walked back over to him.  “Thanks for coming to see me off, Dean.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes.  “You call and let me know you make it to Palo Alto, alright?”

 

“I will.”  Sam paused a moment and then took a step forward.  “Dean…”

 

“Don’t, Sammy.  You don’t get to say goodbye to me.  You got that?”  Backing slowly away, Dean gave him a full on smile.  “If anyone’s gonna watch someone walk away it’s gonna be you watching me leave in my sweet ride.”  The attempt at levity fell flat but Sam smiled at him anyway.  Dean’s face crumbled a bit and he ran a hand back through his hair.  When Sam made a move to come to him, he turned away and started for the Impala.

 

He wasn’t angry.  He wasn’t mad.  He was beginning to realize that he just… was.  And that was okay.  Dean could live with that.  As long as he knew that Sam was alright he could just…be…and he could do that.  He didn’t wait around to watch Sam board the bus.  He didn’t look back in the rearview mirror for a last glimpse.  He just left.  

 

And when Sam called him from Palo Alto, he got Dean’s voicemail…every time.  And when Dean tried to call Sammy two months later, he got the answering service.

 

And when Dad left for his hunting trip and didn’t come back, Dean knew deep down that going to get Sam wasn’t going to be easy at all.  Not when there were too many unspoken goodbyes between them both. 


End file.
